


Unless and Until

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [316]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Arguing, Dubious Morals, Hiding in South America, M/M, Post-World War I, War Profiteer Tony Stark, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: There’s a man by the pool. Correction: there’s a god by the pool, a god in human clothing--well, a god in basically no clothing at all.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Mental Mimosa [316]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1012767
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	Unless and Until

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [This](https://exposedtease.tumblr.com/post/189568812082/exposedtease-%E1%B4%84%CA%9C%CA%80%C9%AAs%E1%B4%84%E1%B4%9C%CA%80%E1%B4%9B%C9%AAs).

There’s a man by the pool. Correction: there’s a god by the pool, a god in human clothing--well, a god in basically no clothing at all. He’s broad-shouldered and blond with a beard that’s making Tony itch in all the right places and he’s working a towel in a way that says he knows he exactly what he looks like and what said vision will do to mere mortals like Tony and jesus, screw this house--Tony wants _him_. 

He may come to a screeching halt. He’s not sure; his eyes are too busy drinking.

The guy’s wearing tiny red, white, and blue swimtrunks, for fuck’s sake, and the whole point of Tony being down here is to get away from those stripes and that star and find a little piece of something that’s his, something that doesn’t reek of obligation or duty, and yet seeing those colors wrapped around this guy’s hips and the curves of his criminally tight ass has the words _God Bless America_ on the tip of Tony’s tongue.

“Mr. Stark?” somebody says, somewhere.

“Huh?”

The agent--oh right, he’s not here alone, is he?--clears his throat. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the property? There’s a guest cottage around the back and we still haven’t been up to the--”

The guy’s looking at him now, his gorgeous face turned in a smirk, which is bad enough. And then he’s dropping the towel and running his fingers through his deliciously too-long hair and oh, Christ--

“Mr. Stark, is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Tony says. “Who the hell is that?”

“Who?”

“That...guy by the pool.”

The agent squints over in the sunshine. “Him? That’s Captain Rogers. He was a friend of the late owner; an ex-pat, like you. Mr. Fury’s will gave him the right to stay here until the property was sold.”

Tony’s mouth is dry. He’s sweating in his summer weight just looking at this guy and he’s in serious need of ten drinks. Also a head examination, he figures, when he hears himself say:

“Yeah? Does that mean he comes with the house?”

****

Captain Rogers doesn’t appreciate the offer. He doesn’t appreciate anything about Tony, apparently.

“I’m not a charity case, Mr. Stark.”

“I know you’re not. I never said you were. I’m merely offering you an opportunity.”

“An opportunity? No thanks. I know what opportunity means to men like you.”

What’s unfair is that Rogers is just as gorgeous with a shirt on as he is with no pants and that’s making it hard for Tony to lean into this argument the way that he wants to because this shouldn’t be an argument, should it? He’s offering this man a gift; _the_ gift, frankly, of not being out on the street. Why won’t Rogers just shut up and take it?

“Oh, you do, huh?” is the best he can manage. Damn it. “And what’s that?”

Rogers stalks across the marble floor of the study and pokes a finger in Tony's face. “I fought in France. Almost two years on the line. I watched my men suck in mustard gas that your company manufactured. I saw them blown in half by mortars that your company built and merrily sold to the Kaiser and that his troops hurled right back across the line, so isn’t that what opportunity means to you and yours, hmm? Any way to make money, period, no matter the actual cost? Isn’t that the Stark Industries motto?”

“I didn’t sell the Germans shit after the _Lusitania_.” 

“There’s still blood on every dollar you made.” 

Tony’s face is flushed; he can feel the heat seeping under his collar. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell I don’t. I can read the papers just as well as the next guy. Washington’s talking about going after your kind, aren’t they? You and the other asshole war profiteers.”

“Well, if you read the papers, you know that we donated a good hunk of our profits last year to men like you who served.”

Rogers’ eyes are hot swords. “Men like me, huh? So this is all about charity.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. “Call it whatever the hell you want,” Tony snaps. “I’m offering you a chance to stay here for as long as you like, that’s all. You want to be homeless in goddamn Santiago, Chile, friend, knock yourself out.”

“If you think that hiding down here is gonna do you any good, Stark, then you should think again. If the boys in Congress wanna call you on the carpet, all the distance between there and here ain’t gonna make a damn bit of difference.”

“Fuck you.”

Something big and dark blooms on Rogers’ face and suddenly he’s looming over Tony, trapping him against the edge of the desk, those big hands balled into fists at his side. “Get out.”

“Newsflash, this isn’t your house, Rogers.”

“Nick said I could stay here as long as I wanted.”

“And you just told me you’d rather sleep on the street than spend one night under my roof.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did.” Tony’s heart is in his ears. Jesus, this guy could snap him like a twig. “Besides, your Mr. Fury is dead and my name’s on the deed, so if anyone is throwing anybody out, it’s me, pal. Not you.”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

“Says the man who’s physically threatening me.”

“I’m not threatening you,” Rogers says, very softly. “Believe me, Stark: if I were, you’d know.”

He’s so close Tony can smell his cologne, the white wine he must have had with dinner; the faint trace of chlorine in his hair. He’s terrifying and the living embodiment of all the shit Tony’s trying to leave behind but by god, his body is a fool; he’s made Captain Rogers hate him and still, his goddamn body wants.

He swallows. “A week. I’ll give you a week to find a new flop and after that, I’m throwing your ass on the street.”

“How generous.”

“Take it or leave it, Captain. It’s no skin off my nose.”

There’s a long, silent moment when all Rogers does is stare; stare into Tony’s eyes like they’re in a prizefight or something, like he’s waiting for the bell to signal the next round so he can tangle Tony up in the ropes. 

There’s a long, silent moment when Tony’s brain says _run_ and his dick says _please_ and some idiot part of him announces that the best way to solve this problem is to go down to his knees and rub his mouth against the heat of Rogers’ shorts until the man has him by the hair, that big cock leaking in his fist as Tony opens his mouth and drinks him down and in and in.

There’s a long, silent moment when the future hangs without moving, when the past whispers in his ear and it’s the present that seems out of his grasp.

“Fine,” Rogers says at last. “A week.”

“A week.”

“And then we’ll never have to see each other again.”

Tony swallows. “Exactly.”

Then Rogers is stepping back, a cruel little grin on his face. “Unless and until I see your mugshot in the papers, that is.”


End file.
